


i've got nothing to hide

by lameafpun



Series: like a virgin [3]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Multi, PWP, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, amab reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: Sometimes the most innocuous things about him can get to you.
Relationships: Link (Legend of Zelda) & Reader, Link/Reader
Series: like a virgin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1509233
Comments: 4
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

Goosebumps prickle into existence on your skin in the early morning chill. It’s your off day, and the best deals at the market can be found early in the morning when no merchant is sure they’ll be able to break even with the knowledge you could walk away at any time hanging over their heads. 

In any case, you’d managed to get a bedside table for two hundred rupees a few weeks ago. Which was nice (it really did go wonderfully with the natural wood of your room). 

You pull the wool of your coat a bit more firmly over yourself, watching cross-eyed as clouds of breath puff into existence. 

Wicker digs into your skin. The results of your shopping spree weighing heavily in your basket. It’s mostly fruits and vegetables but a few baubles had caught your eye; delightful little wooden carvings of the newly-awoken Hero of Hyrule, wielding his quintessential sword and shield in a variety of little victory poses. 

You’re halfway through the market, the scent of various roasted foods drifting to you on a mid morning breeze, when you spot him. Really, it’s the buckles of his outfit that tips you off. So many buckles. You do not have fond memories of that outfit (while the buckles had been useful, and the head scarf was quite versatile, he never seemed to have enough time to stay and let the outfit fulfill its full potential). 

Dust and dirt from the road has left streaks on his face. Some of it flakes off onto your cloak as you hook an arm through his, and you smile at the stare of the merchant and the way Link tugs you closer. His next breath is heavier and he almost chokes on it. You think you may have interrupted Link’s haggling. The cloth merchant looks all the more happier for it, though, and takes the bag of rupees Link fumbles onto the counter with no small amount of pleasure. 

“Back in town for long, hero? Or did you come by just for little ole’ me?” 

He almost trips over his own feet, barely recovering at the last second. When he manages to stand and walk with no further accident he doesn’t turn to look at you. If he did you’re sure you’d see a blush. Even so, the tips of his ears betray him. He doesn’t yank his arm out of yours, though. His hand squeezes yours and it’s enough of an answer. 

“Well, would my hero mind carrying my basket? I have a bit more shopping to do and I think I could use your eye for some things.” 

He acquiesces, and almost drops the entire thing when he sees the little figures carved in his likeness. Still, he follows you through the market, the basket looking light as a feather with the way he carries it with ease. In between stalls, you pinch at your arm and then Link’s. The muscle under his skin ripples as he flexes playfully. The fat on yours (hiding an impressive set of biceps, you’re sure) jiggles. 

You’ll have to properly appreciate his arms. 

Your stroll through the market is horribly domestic, you think to yourself as you hold up two lengthy curtains for Link to judge. He picks the pattered green one. 

Soft tassels run through your fingers. It’s heavy; the weight of a good winter coat. You reach up and settle it against the back of Link’s neck, pulling him in slightly but not enough to be indecent in the very public market setting. 

Again, you’re back on your tiptoes as you whisper in Link’s ear, now teetering on the edge of propriety. 

“Does your carpet match the drapes?” (you both know you know the answer to this particular question, ridiculous as it is. the spark of humor is enough to ignite a bonfire)

Unable to hold back your snickers, you drop back down and laugh, delighting in the curve of his smile and the soundless chuckles that manage to escape. Cloth rustles as your arm loops around his, pulling him closer. 

Booths blur together as you settle into Link’s side but you point them out to him with a practiced ease, distinguishing between those who have the best prices or quality. The smaller stall squished between two spice sellers has the best apple cider; “Thom and Lewis are both sweet on Chyna — she gets a significant discount.”

Link doesn’t think he’s ever had a more entertaining walk in his life (from what he can remember, anyway). 

Halfway into your explanation of a years-long feud between a woodcutter and the toymaker that have side-by-side booths, Link notices you’re shivering.

Heavy warmth settles on your shoulders; extra protection from the uncommonly cold day. A horsey sort of smell has already sunk into it. Zig-zags and polka dots of varying greens and yellows clash with your outfit so horribly you’re sure the residential fashionista of the House, Gina, would have a conniption if she caught you like this. 

“Why are you so sweet?” 

Link is visibly unsure how to respond to that. The kiss to his cheek exacerbates the intensity of his dropped stare; his small, shining sun of a smile warms the ground underneath his feet. 

The walk is long and yet, despite the ache in your legs, it seems a bit shorter with current company.

Something about the way Link’s arms move piques your interest. They’re mesmerizing; you find yourself staring at them — the defined forearms and veins that wrap around makes you bite your lip.

Wicker drags against his front as he shifts the basket handle from one hand to another and if you weren’t so close you never would have heard the hissing little intake of breath that usually preceded a moan. 

Shivers wrack your body, and you press up against the Hero of Hyrule. 

“Oh.” 


	2. early winter chill (afab)

It feels different this time, when you pull him into a little patch of forest in town (no one had cut the trees down when first establishing the town, years ago, and so it had been dubbed a park). It’s easier. Link can catch his breath and it tastes like sky and trees, the road he travels and the little high he gets when he travels the path back to you. Freshly baked bread, too — you hadn’t managed to get that far away from the market, and little odds and ends of conversation and hawking manage to reach him. 

Then your lips are on his and everything else fades away into static. Link has always loved the feeling of your hands gripping the ends of his hair, threading through the strands with a strange softness offset by the way you pulled so strong and slow. 

Afternoon had properly settled into the town, chasing away the harshest of the cold. Still, you shiver as Link unbuttons the front of your shirt. He kisses you again as he drags his hands up your sides. It’s slow, and he breaks away to look at you properly as he maps out the skin of your chest almost reverently. The way he looks at you like you’re the only thing worth looking at is intoxicating. His cock stirs when you moan — it’s loud, and he panics, and he seals his lips over yours (chapped, and you’ll give him some of your lip balm when you can think straight again). 

Bark digs into your back as you fall against the tree. He’s mouthing down your skin, from your lips down to your jaw, collarbone, until he ends at your nipple. His lips seal around one while he flicks the other with a thumb, and something in the way he shifts in front of you, above you, evokes a shudder. Your pants fall to the ground to puddle around your ankles. Warm, wet breath ghosts over your skin and a muscled thigh slots in between your own, trapping you against the tree. 

Everything about him is warm. It surges though him; pressed up against his body like a leech, you still shiver as hot digits glide down your hips, searching. 

A rough finger pad brushes over your clit and it’s like being struck by a bolt of lightning. Your hands clutch at his shoulders as a long finger delves into you, his thumb still settled on the most sensitive part of your body — unexperienced but enthusiastic.

(He’s encouraged by the bit out “yes”s of yours, the hand fisting the shoulder of his shirt, and the way you arch into his touch.)

Intermittent shudders wrack your body as he fingers you patiently (tortuously), exploring, pushing your hands away when you reach clumsily for the ties at the front of his pants. Pouting, you lean in to steal a kiss and bite at the plumpness of his lips playfully. The retribution is a squeezing pull of your nipple that makes you grind down onto his fingers. They’re slick and you slide down to the joints. 

Between one stroke and the next, he’s dropped to his knees (slick has dripped down onto his palm and he wants to rut into your legs, your hands, wherever he can be closest to you) and gives your lips a broad lick that just manages to brush your clit. 

It’s too direct, you’re too sensitive, and you yelp as your legs shake. 

He apologizes with a gentle lick and continues after hiking your leg over his shoulder, with movements that seem more familiar. 

It’s warm and wet and messy and sort of itchy (you really hope that isn’t poison ivy) but you can already feel yourself reaching your peak, and you’ve learned that with Link it always pays to be vocal. 

“Oh, Hylia, I’m so close!”

He glances up at you through his lashes and sucks at your clit as you feel him curling his fingers. 

You nearly collapse to the ground when you come, held up only by Link’s bruising grip at your hip.

(he can feel you spasm and pulse around his fingers as you leak cum onto your thighs)

He carries the basket the rest of the way back (to which you gave him a very enthusiastic thank you) and when you check later you find, yes, a tree rat had stolen some of your fruits while you'd been otherwise occupied. 

(worth it).


	3. early winter chill (amab)

It feels different this time, when you pull him into a little patch of forest in town (no one had cut the trees down when first establishing the town, years ago, and so it had been dubbed a park). It’s easier. Link can catch his breath and it tastes like sky and trees, the road he travels. Freshly baked bread, too — you hadn’t managed to get that far away from the market, and little odds and ends of conversation and hawking manage to reach him. 

Then your lips are on his and everything else fades away into static. Link has always loved the feeling of your hands gripping the ends of his hair, threading through the strands with a strange softness offset by the way you pulled so strong and slow. 

Afternoon had properly settled into the town, chasing away the harshest of the cold. Still, you shiver as Link unbuttons the front of your shirt. He kisses you again as he drags his hands up your flanks. It’s slow, and he breaks away to look at you properly as he maps out the skin of your chest almost reverently. His cock stirs when you moan — it’s loud, and he panics, and he seals his lips over yours (chapped, and you’ll give him some of your lip balm when you can think straight again). 

Bark digs into your back as he backs you up against the tree. He’s mouthing down your skin, from your lips down to your jaw, collarbone, until he ends at your nipple. His lips seal around one while he flicks the other with a thumb, and something in the way he shifts in front of you, above you, evokes a full body shudder that results in tented fabric. Your pants fall to the ground to puddle around your ankles, and your cock bobs in the air. Warm, wet breath ghosts over your skin. A muscled thigh slots in between your own, trapping you against the tree and providing just a taste of friction that leaves you hungry for more. 

Everything about him is warm. It surges though him; pressed up against his body like a leech, you still shiver as hot digits glide down your hips, searching. 

A rough finger pad brushes over your cockhead and it’s like being struck by a bolt of lightning. When he grasps you fully, hand wet with spit, and starts to pump, he continues to thumb it — unexperienced but enthusiastic.

(He’s encouraged by the bit out “yes”s of yours, the hand fisting the shoulder of his shirt, and the way you arch into his touch.)

Intermittent shudders wrack your body as he masturbates you patiently (tortuously), exploring, pushing your hands away when you reach clumsily for the ties at the front of his pants. Pouting, you lean in to steal a kiss and bite at the plumpness of his lips playfully. The retribution is a tweak of your nipple that makes you rut into his hand, slick with spit and precome. 

Between one stroke and the next, he’s dropped to his knees (slick has dripped down onto his palm and he wants to rut into your legs, your hands, wherever he can be closest to you) and gives your licks a long stripe up the underside of your cock. 

It’s too direct, you’re too sensitive, and you yelp as your legs shake. 

He apologizes with a gentle kiss to your shaft and continues after, with movements that seem more familiar. You watch as his head bobs, aided by your hand in his hair. 

It’s warm and wet and messy and sort of itchy (you really hope that isn’t poison ivy) but you can already feel yourself reaching your peak, and you’ve learned that with Link it always pays to be vocal. 

“Oh, Hylia, I’m so close!”

He glances up at you through his lashes and sucks at the head before taking you as deep as he can, gagging all the way. 

You nearly collapse to the ground when you come, held up only by Link’s bruising grip at your hip.

(you can feel him swallowing around you, determined to not let a single drop escape, his own load shot into the dirt beneath him)

He carries the basket the rest of the way back (to which you gave him a very enthusiastic thank you) and when you check later you find, yes, a tree rat had stolen some of your fruits while you'd been otherwise occupied. 

(worth it).


End file.
